A moonlit reaction.

Like in her dreams; the mending moon perpetually full, i found to outstep in desiring fashion, a task braided through the aging illumination of a deceptive covering, the tall forests hollow. Retrieving to the day of warmth, brightly my hearth drained to the ten of hour. Should my desire fold with weeping forage, a rummage in counting to a return leaving you, there should I not know, full repetitive a motion to fine a linear moonlit suggestion in a maligning, dearth the misunderstood dizzying token, endearing whispers of tall, in capture, the audible moon, to remember the intersecting light. Throes of colour, dripping from her sky, finding my way, hollowed to define in many admissible ‘a moonlit reaction’.

2019 Adam Blewett ©